


Secret Santa (Behind the door: day 23)

by DoctorBilly



Series: Behind the door: Advent calendar2014 [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dimstrade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 23 of my Advent Calendar for 2014. Prompts are from locations behind the <a href="http://www.safestyle-windows.co.uk/secret-door/index.html">Secret Door</a></p><p>Lestrade and Dimmock don't really enjoy the Yarders' Christmas party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Santa (Behind the door: day 23)

**Author's Note:**

> The image can be seen [ here ](http://doctor-billy.tumblr.com/post/105978751588/behind-the-door-day-23-new-scotland-yard-story)
> 
> This story is another in the "Christmas Jumpers" set.

 

"Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me…"

Lestrade hums along with Eartha Kitt as he pops his Secret Santa gifts into the big evidence bag under the Christmas tree.

Christmas parties at the Yard are predictable. The only different things about this year's bash are the presence of Solange Draper, on secondment, and the absence of Tobias Gregson, currently recovering from minor heart surgery.

Lestrade has been to see Gregson, taken Christmas cards and the secret Santa gift that had appeared on his desk with Gregson's name on the tag. He had no idea who it was from. Toby had fretted about letting his giftee down, and Lestrade found himself press-ganged into buying a cheaper-than-ten pounds gift for Luce Thompkiss, on Gregson's behalf, and another for Solange, who was not in the original draw, but who can't be left out of the gifting spree.

Thompkiss is easy. A bag of good coffee beans and a bottle of vanilla syrup will keep him happy.

Choosing a gift for Solange had been a nightmare. What do you buy for ten pounds for a woman who wears Jimmy Choos and emerald earrings as her everyday accessories? Lestrade spends hours thinking and wandering around the shops, but in the end plays it safe and naff. Posh chocolates, one of each of the liqueurs, hand made and wrapped in cellophane.

The bag soon fills with parcels in a variety of sizes and wrapping styles. Sally Donovan will take on her usual duty of handing out the gifts later. Dimmock is in charge of the music, and Solange, as the other DI in Lestrade's team, is detailed to keep the punch bowl unspiked.

As DCI, the welcome speech falls to Lestrade, and he makes it short and sweet, ceding the floor to the dancers as soon as he can. Luce is in demand. " _How did he learn to dance like that?_ " Lestrade wonders. Solange looks a little put-out. She is tapping her feet, obviously wants to dance, but as punch bowl monitor, she cannot abandon her post.

Dimmock winks at Lestrade across the dance floor and mimes smoking. He can safely leave a music playlist running unattended for a while. Lestrade nods and heads up to the roof.

"Brought my own mistletoe." Dimmock smiles and pulls Lestrade into a smooch. "Wasn't really sure about getting you under it, though."

"You know I'd never turn you down, T."

Dimmock lights a cigarette, takes a drag and passes it to Lestrade.

"Will you be at the Crisis centre on Christmas Day, or do you just do the run-up?"

"I'll be there this year. Don't want to be on my own. And I'm on call, of course."

"I'm on call as well. And I'll be at the centre. I heard that there's a dozen turkeys to cook…"

"We'll be on potato duty again, I expect."

"Yeah. I expect so. Charlie likes to see us as menials, doesn't he?" Dimmock laughs, and grinds out the cigarette butt under his foot. "I'd best get back down to the music." He leans across and kisses Lestrade gently. "Don't be lonely, Greg. You know where I am."

Lestrade waits until Dimmock has left, then lights another cigarette. Eventually, the cold air drives him back downstairs, just in time for the secret Santa handouts.

"Luce. This one's yours. Feels heavy."

Sally Donovan conducts this ritual in her own way. Parcels are drawn from the bag one at a time, handed over and the recipients forced to open them in front of everyone. It is a good year if there is only slight embarrassment.

Luce opens his parcel and beams. He is very happy with his coffee and vanilla syrup.

"Theo, yours rattles…"

Dimmock opens the parcel with some trepidation. Previous years have produced sex toys and flavoured lubes. He has perfected the deadpan face and vacant smile that allow him to be proclaimed a "good sport" while he seethes inside. He needs all his acting skill when the wrapping paper tears to reveal a pair of handcuffs lined with pink fake fur.

Lestrade sighs. He fights with Dimmock every year over this issue. He has a reasonable idea of who Dimmock's Santa is, and so has Dimmock. Lestrade thinks that whoever it is makes a particular effort to draw Dimmock's name, year after year. Sally must be aware of who it is. Lestrade wants to confront her and the suspect. Dimmock won't hear of it.

"Leave it, Greg. Don't make waves."

Lestrade jumps. Dimmock has crept up quietly beside him, obviously heading for the door.

"Don't go yet, T. Wait for me?"

"Sir! Yours is huge!"

Donovan throws Lestrade's parcel across the room. There is a burst of laughter as he opens it to reveal a pair of fluffy slippers and a dressing gown, bought in a charity shop, judging by the musty smell wafting from them.

"I don't get it, Greg." Dimmock is puzzled. "Why is it funny?"

"It's a hint that I ought to settle down in my armchair by the fire and let the youngsters get on with it."

"It's not from me, Greg."

"I know. I think it's from Sal."

Lestrade stays long enough to see Solange open her chocolates and drop them carelessly on the buffet table. All at once the room doesn't have enough air in it for him. He says brief goodbyes to the people near him and heads for the staircase.

Dimmock is waiting on the landing.

"Need a lift, Greg?"

"Yeah."

They walk down to the car park. Dimmock pops the gull wings of his DeLorean, and they climb in.

"These parties never get any better, do they?"

Dimmock laughs, harshly.

"No. Worse, if anything. Your place?"

"Yeah. Bring your mistletoe."


End file.
